


Breath

by Eltrkbarbarella



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Creepy, Demon Summoning, Light Angst, M/M, Mirrors, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8405005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eltrkbarbarella/pseuds/Eltrkbarbarella
Summary: Don’t breathe into mirrors. Your soul gets trapped in them and can’t come back to you.
Mark makes a desperate decision that will haunt him for a long time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here's a quick spooky fic I wrote in just a couple of hours yesterday. I felt like writing but wanted to avoid working on my current WIP, hehehe.
> 
> Special thanks to [Fantismal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantismal/pseuds/Fantismal), who gave me the idea to write something halloween related and Beta'd this fic ♡
> 
> If you want, you can check my tumblr at [rainbowcheesecake.tumblr.com](http://rainbowcheesecake.tumblr.com/). It's mostly empty, but I post some stuff about writing from time to time. At the moment I'm considering opening up writing prompts.

It’s dark. His own existence meaningless and mingled to the environment around him. He is darkness, darkness is him, they are one and the same.  
  
Time is a worthless concept that slips through the cracks in his vessel. What good would it do him to keep count of the minutes, the days, the years, the centuries? Through the rise and fall of everything in existence, He remains. What good were numbers for when they all ended, when they never ended at all?  
  
He exists, somewhere just out of the plane of reality. He waits.  
  
A call. How rare to finally have some contact. Is it rare? Can he tell how long it’s been since he last finished a contract? The darkness dissipates like a drop of ink fading into water, stark white, like hope, for a second, only to be swallowed back down by the unending void. A slice of light remains, just a breach into his home, into his being.  
  
It’s small. A window peeking into the outside, just big enough for him to see the shape of desperation. He moves closer. How curious: this time it’s a full grown man. One would think adults would know better than to try and contact him. _Maybe it will be fun_ , He thinks, _convincing him to fall._

 

 

It is childish, it is stupid, it is worthless.  
  
Mark can’t deal with this again, not another one of his friends, not another death on his shoulders. He shakes and trembles where he stands, grabbing onto the edge of his sink. Mark’s face is red and swollen, his hair a mess. His original goal was to wash his face and steal a couple of sips of water from the faucet, but his nausea wavered as soon as he opened his mouth.  
  
If he could do anything at all to stop this, to stop everything… He can’t.  
  
Jack’s condition is getting worse; he isn’t going to last through the night. Mark doubts he’s going to last through it either. Why now? Why before he even had a chance to be honest about his feelings? Mark rests his forehead against the chill of the mirror’s surface, feeling his eyes well up once again with a sob. The moistness of his breath gathers in condensation against the surface beneath.  
  
An intrusive thought prods its way into his brain. A stupid childhood memory: _Don’t breathe into mirrors. Your soul gets trapped in them and can’t come back to you._ He remembers the advice and for a second holds his breath.  
  
They tried it just once in his school’s bathroom during recess: breathing into the mirror and writing down on the fog the thing you wished for. It was supposed to summon a demon. How exciting, how adventurous for little kids. His friends all ran away scared before even completing the process. But not Mark: he stared the mirror down, “I’m not afraid of you.” He remembers saying. He also remembers the chill running down his spine when he saw his own reflection blur and warp right in front of his eyes.  
  
It’s nothing but a stupid childhood memory. His fear probably altered his memory and perception. Mark tries to reason with himself, but the thought prevails.  
  
Just one try. It’s a stupid children’s spooky game, but it is worth trying. It’s never going to work, but just the slightest possibility to get Jack back is enough to make him want to try.  
  
Mark turns the lights off, the late afternoon sun bouncing on the tiled walls and giving everything a golden orange glow. He leans over the sink and blows a gust of warm air over the cold surface of the mirror in front of him. Mark runs his finger through the moisture left behind, writing down a single name.  
  
**_JACK_**  
  
Nothing.  
  
The fog fades away and Mark is left staring at his own stupid hopeful eyes. The afternoon light makes his eyes glow almost red, how strange…  Mark sees a smile peeking on the corner of his mouth on his own reflection.  
  
_“I remember you…”_  
  
Mark jumps back startled. He hears his own voice echo through the bathroom and sees his lips moving in the mirror, but he never utters a single word.  
  
Mark hears laughter and looks up to see his reflection still standing in the same position as before _“Are you scared of me now?”_ His reflection asks.  
  
Mark wants to scream but he can’t find enough air in his lungs to do so. He gasps silently plastered against the wall opposite of the mirror.  
  
_“I can give you what you want, you know...”_ the mirror says in its stolen voice. Mark starts inching away from the wall, dragging his feet on the ground, unsteady from all the shaking, trying to reach the door handle.  
  
_“Hey now, do you really want to run from the chance of getting him back?”_ The mirror taunts him.  
  
Before his eyes Mark can see the reflection changing. For a second the mirror is covered in blurry fog, but after a few seconds it clears away to reveal an entirely different nightmare: Jack is standing there, trapped behind the mirror.  
  
No.  
  
Not Jack.  
  
That thing is using his image.  
  
_“I can give him more time… I can make him love you back.”_ The mirror promises, cooing in the gentle voice Jack used when they were alone. The sound tugs at his heart, and Mark is drawn into the mirror once again. He steps closer, touching his fingers to the cold surface, wishing with all his heart he could feel Jack’s warm skin beneath his fingertips.  
  
_“It takes just a second to seal it. That’s it, just come closer.”_  The sound of Jack’s voice rings like the sweetest of songs in his ears. He needs to hear it again. To hear the real thing.  
  
Mark places both hands on the mirror and leans in. His breath bounces against the mirror and he sees Jack’s image licking its lips. Mark closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the mirror. He nods.  
  
Mark feels the glass bending and bubbling beneath his fingertips melting forwards into his skin.  
  
The cold kiss of glass on his lips and the lack of air burning in his lungs drag him down into unconsciousness.

 

 

Mark doesn’t know how long he’s been out. The afternoon sun is already long gone when he comes to. He wakes up to his phone ringing in his pocket: his friends, with great news about Jack.  
  
“It’s a miracle,” they say, “He’s gonna be ok.”  
  
Mark’s skin crawls. He takes a long breath in, but it doesn’t seem to fill his lungs at all. He feels an emptiness somewhere inside his chest, and a sudden dread forces out a shudder that sweeps over him from head to toe.  
  
Mark doesn’t feel like himself. At least he doesn’t feel _entirely_ like himself anymore. He risks looking at himself in the mirror… Strange… it didn’t seem any different. Mark looked at his reflection with suspicion but could find nothing wrong with the image in front of him.  
  
Maybe he hallucinated the whole thing.  
  
Mark turns his attention back to his phone, promising to go to the hospital to visit Jack as soon as possible.

 

 

“Mark, I have so much I need to tell you.” Jack looks so small and vibrant sitting in the middle of the hospital bed.   _He looks good,_ Mark thought to himself _, too good_. Jack’s eyes shine bright blue and clear as glass. Wrong.  
  
Mark steps closer to the bed. He swallows down his uneasiness and moves to sit by his friend’s bedside. Jack raises a hand too smoothly, too gently, and places it on top of Mark’s where it is resting on the railings. His skin is cold.  
  
The contact triggers something inside of him. In a rush Mark can feel the air flowing back into his lungs. It hurts.  
  
“Thank you,” Jack says, and Mark can hear him beneath the words, trapped inside.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Mark sobs and gets nothing but an empty smile in return.

 

 


End file.
